


Your Man

by earlybloomingparentheses



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Kneeling, Loyalty, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlybloomingparentheses/pseuds/earlybloomingparentheses
Summary: “Why did you do it, Billy?” the Captain asks softly.
Relationships: Billy Bones/Captain Flint | James McGraw
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Your Man

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this a few years ago and for some reason never posted it! long live black sails.

Billy stands outside the door of the ship’s cabin. He can hear low voices inside: Gates and the Captain. Hands behind his back, he waits. The lie he so recently told the crew sits at the back of his throat, a lump he must swallow around, but his spine is straight and his blood is sure and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

The door opens.

“Billy,” says Gates. “Do you have something to discuss with the Captain?”

“He wanted to see me,” Billy answers.

Gates peers at him for a second, then nods. “All right, then. Seems he’s free now.”

Billy inclines his head and Gates moves away. After a moment, Billy looks inside.

Captain Flint sits alone behind his desk, arms crossed, staring intently into the middle distance with a shine in his blue eyes that Billy knows well enough to fear as much as admire. Flint’s skin is burnished gold by the low flickering lamps, his red beard appearing redder than usual. Upon hearing Billy step forward he looks up, all the intensity of his gaze narrowing in to fix on the younger man.

Billy nearly falters under the weight of it but keeps walking steadily into the room.

“Shut the door.”

Billy obeys.

Flint doesn’t gesture for him to sit. So Billy stands, waiting in silence.

Flint flicks the end of his moustache absently as he surveys Billy. Deep in Billy’s gut something curdles. His skin, every inch of the surface of his body, strains outwards. As he watches the Captain, he grows as warm as if he’d just downed a whole glass of whiskey.

Captain Flint watches back.

“Well,” he says.

“Sir?”

Billy feels the tug of Flint’s gaze, insistent and penetrating, designed to draw out the most stoic of men. But Billy doesn’t speak.

“Why did you do it, Billy?” the Captain asks softly.

“Do what, Captain?”

Flint’s eyebrow twitches. Billy is being deliberately obtuse; the Captain knows it. But Billy needs him to ask: needs him to say it aloud.

“Why did you see that blank piece of paper and say it was the _Urca de Lima_ ’s schedule?” Flint asks, his eyes not moving from Billy’s. “Why did you lie to the crew?”

Finally Billy shifts slightly, moving his weight from one foot to the other. He takes care to keep his voice and his gaze even.

“For you, Captain.”

Flint’s eyes narrow. “For me?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Billy stands tall. After a moment, Flint gets to his feet and walks slowly, almost at a prowl, around the desk, until he’s in front of it, standing face to face with Billy.

“What do you mean, Billy,” he says quietly, not without an edge of danger in his voice, “that you did it for me?”

He’s so close that Billy can feel the warmth emanating from him.

“I mean,” Billy says, a low roaring starting up in his ears, in his veins, “that I didn’t do it because I think you’re right to lie to them. I didn’t do it because I want to find the _Urca de Lima_. I didn’t do it because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. I did it,” he takes a breath, “for you.”

Flint remains silent, watching, and this time his gaze does draw Billy out.

“If you want loyalty,” Billy says, the confession like a drop of burning liquid on his tongue, “you have it. Absolute loyalty. You have it from me.”

Flint’s next word is so soft Billy almost doesn’t catch it.

“Why?”

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t have an answer to that question, Captain.”

But his body is ringing out with the truth of it, so loudly Billy can’t fathom how Flint can’t hear it. Sweat breaks out on his palms and the back of his neck, and his breaths come louder now in the silence of the cabin. A dark hot force seems to press down on his head. With the sense that what he’s doing now is more dangerous and more inevitable than any move he could have made that day in front of the crew, Billy drops slowly to his knees.

Flint’s mouth falls open ever so slightly. Otherwise he remains quite still. Billy feels like tight bands are constricting around his chest. He is rooted to the hard floor, even as the ship moves beneath him.

“Captain,” he murmurs.

Flint stares at him like he’s never seen him before.

He puts out his hand and rests it on Billy’s head. A surge of heat explodes when his skin makes contact with Billy’s scalp through Billy’s short rough hair. Billy suppresses a gasp, but he knows it doesn’t escape Flint’s notice.

“I’ll do anything for you. I swear it.”

The vow feels sweet and shameful and a relief to let fall from his lips. He’s mesmerized by Flint’s unwavering blue stare.

“Anything?” Flint asks, his voice growing rough.

“Anything.”

“Then,” Flint says, with a curl to his lip that is hard but not cruel, “lick my boots.”

Red hot humiliation and desire flush rapidly through Billy—in his heels, in the arches of his feet, between his legs. Hypnotically, moving almost as if underwater, Billy bows his head.

He slides his tongue out and licks a wet stripe along the top of the Captain’s boot.

He flicks his eyes upward for half a second as his mouth fills with the taste of dirt and oil and saltwater. Flint is staring down at him through narrowed eyes.

Billy bends his neck, kneeling before Flint, and licks the other shoe.

“Anything,” he murmurs into the rough leather, his breath hot and his head buzzing. “I’d kill for you.” He flattens his tongue once more against the fabric. “I’d die for you.”

“You know, Billy,” Flint says lowly, “I might ask you to.”

“I know,” Billy whispers to the floor, and then Flint’s fingers grasp his chin and pull his face upwards. Billy looks full into Flint’s piercing gaze and feels, beatifically, like he’s drowning.

“You’re mine,” Flint growls. “My man.”

“Your man, Captain,” Billy echoes. “And no one else’s.”

His eyes still locked on Billy’s and one hand firm under Billy’s chin, Flint uses his other hand to unfasten his trousers and smallclothes and pull out his prick. He gives it a few swift tugs to make it harden a little and then releases Billy.

Billy opens his mouth and swallows him down.

Flint lets out a half-aborted grunt. Billy sucks, closing his eyes, the better to smell Flint’s sour sweat and to taste him, bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t waste time warming Flint up: Flint’s not that kind of man. Instead Billy takes him deeper and deeper, suppressing his gag reflex as he long ago learned to do, until Flint’s buried to the hilt in Billy’s throat and Billy’s nose brushes the ginger hair between his Captain’s legs.

“Fuck,” Flint chokes out, the ghost of a laugh in his voice. “Jesus, Billy.”

_Anything_ , Billy wants to say again, his world narrowing to this little room and this patch of light and Flint’s cock big and heavy against the back of his throat. He breathes shallowly through his nose, feeling lightheaded with the lack of air. Flint thrusts, just a little, and Billy gags.

“Hah.” Flint does it again. Drool slips out of Billy’s mouth.

Flint pushes Billy back, pulling his prick free. Billy stares up at him, his throat raw, his chin wet, his cheeks feverishly flushed. When Flint puts his hand on Billy’s face, Billy feels something in him give, like a dog rolling over onto its back, displaying its tender belly.

Billy sees Flint see it in his eyes and Flint leans forward and rubs his spit-covered prick along Billy’s cheek.

Billy leans into it, turning towards his Captain.

“I don’t repay loyalty well,” Flint says softly.

“I don’t expect you will,” Billy replies, his voice hoarse.

Flint’s eyes flutter shut for half a second and then open again. “You’re a dangerous man, Billy,” he says. “To others, and to yourself.”

“But not to you,” Billy answers.

Flint breathes, then pulls on his prick until he’s spilling over Billy’s face. Billy waits on his knees, unmoving, eyes open, until Flint is done.

Flint’s semen slides down Billy’s neck, into his collar. Billy tastes it on his lips. One of his eyelashes is gummed with it, making the room a little blurred.

Flint raises a hand to Billy’s face and runs it down his cheek, smearing it with come. He presents it to Billy’s mouth and, obediently, Billy licks it clean.

“Maybe most of all to me,” Flint says, and Billy looks up at him. “You might be dangerous to me most of all.”

With a pensive, enigmatic smile, Flint turns away.

Billy, still on his knees with the hot, dark weight of that invisible hand pressing down on his head, doesn’t understand how that could be. Doesn’t imagine, young as he is, that what seems like absolute and irreversible loyalty could ever shift into something else just as absolute, and just as ruthless. Doesn’t see what’s coming.

Not yet. But it won’t be long.

Not long at all.


End file.
